Hello my friends -

So today Scooter spouts off, for the second time, the name by which I refer to my honey, here on my Penny Blog. As in "Just because Marvin is cleaning up for you..." Wow.

What a fuck, huh?

And where does that leave me? Understandably bereft.

(Scoot, bereft mean very, very sad.).

I am bereft because I like my Penny Blog. In fact, there are times when I've loved it and times when I thought perhaps it had saved my life. But now I have to wish it farewell. Because try as I might I can not stomach the idea of giving Captain Jackass the slightest glimpse into my life, my mind, my heart, or my business. In fact, I'd rather stab myself in both eyes with forks. And that's some serious aversion.

(Scoot, aversion means that you really, really don't wanna.).

I just don't see any way around it and it sucks. Who knew that you could lose your personal thoughts in the divorce? (Judge "I award all your private thinking to Scooter in exchange for all of that trash you threw out that he wanted to keep and was always gonna get out of the garage some time next week." Penny "But, your Honor, those private thoughts were mine BEFORE we got married." Scooter's Attorney "Objection! Your Honor she just utilized a thought which you have already awarded the MY CLIENT! Objection!" Judge "Penny, I find you in contempt. Stop your personal thinking at once!'' Penny "But your honor!" Judge "Take her away Rusty. I am so sorry Captain Jackass, sometimes they just get so upset.")

Who the fuck knew?

Well, if I am going out I am going out with a BANG.

My whole life I have had this parentally imposed throttle restricter, instructing me that I had to be a good girl and that I am not allowed to have my own purely selfish feelings about anything. ANYTHING! Not a one. And I have always made excuses and Herculean

(Scoot, Herculean means really really strong)

efforts for the other person. For my mother, for my husband, for the Bartender. Everyone. And the truth is the only people on earth that deserve that kind of lee-way and deference are your children. So I quit. I quit trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, Scooter. I quit talking myself out of my feelings in an effort to make nice with you. I QUIT.

So, here you go:

I HATE YOU.

And your girl friend's ass is so freakin wide that by the time she's 40 you'll have to buy her two seats on the plane. Good luck with that.

Friends, I'll miss you. Be well.

A Message For Scooter

Dear Scooter,

Just because this is a public site does not give you the right to poke your prying nose into it. You were a sneaky, lying jackass when we lived together and you are worse than that now. I hope that you have garnered some satisfaction from looking where you have no right to look. I am not ashamed of a single word I wrote here, including the words about you.

Did you read the post about how I hope someone KILLS me before I am ever such a fuck as to blame my child for something I did wrong? Did you read that one?

If you do not like the way in which I care take your shit, then get it out of my garage. How many years do you expect me to trip over and live around your piles of accumulated crap?

And please, for Christ's sake, don't come to my house when I am home if you can not refrain from your stupid leaking mouth comments, your ugly threatening postures and your stomping about in front of my children.

You sicken me.

Love,

Penny

Why Is My Brain Out To Get Me? or is it...

Well Blog Monkeys and others...

I do not know who the others may be. I know there are few remaining interested cyber-friends. But I suppose that there is an entire new squadron of perusers out there. Peruse on, my friends... WELCOME!

Well, I begin, I am at the WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU THINKING ANYWAY??? stage of this relationship with My Marvin. I know this because my dreams tell me so. I have long passed the silliness of thinking that dreams mean anything cogent or FACTUAL, for christ's sake. but nevertheless I have them and they effect me on an emotional level. they are pure emotion couched in disjointed movie like pictures, poor stories designed to display and highlight the emotion. What emotion you ask? Anxiety, fear and suspicion. Yep. I am an evil emotion soup. At least when I am unconscious and my logical brain can not grasp and throttle the defective bits of me.

But dude, isn't that just the problem?

Take my "relationship" with the Bartender. ("Please!" rim-shot, polite laughter... Oh that Penny! What a card!) For example, let's examine that. You don't know, but sadly I do, how much effort I put into talking myself out of reasonable suspicions in favor of candy coated fantasies. WHY? Because at a fundamental level I am defective and I have been molded my entire life to be receptive to mental illness, selfishness and chaos. In fact, some part of me thinks that with out these things there is no love.

My rational brain can sort out the lies my emotional brain tells me.

Or so it would seem until you look at the Bartender. How many times did I experience a perfectly rational, reasonable suspicion - proved beyond a shred of a shadow of any doubt now - and DISMISS IT OUT OF HAND AS MY UNREASONABLE DEFECTIVE BRAIN GETTING IN THE WAY OF MY HAPPINESS? Do you see the conundrum?

How can I trust either assessment???

So I have resorted to looking for outside affirmation of the reasonableness of my thinking. and so far I have gotten resounding approval and that is very good news. Because kids, I gotta tell you...

I am happy happy happy with My Marvin. If I were 16 I would write sappy poetry endlessly and speak of nothing else. I would make the pact to die at the very same moment and god help anyone that risked questioning me. But I am not 16. I am 40. So I just have these stupid dreams and think these circular thoughts and wonder how one gets along in life if you can't even trust your own brain.